Master
by Ziggy Sternenstaub
Summary: Two years after the birth of the Empire and his battle on Mustaphar, Darth Vader has an epiphany. Guest starring some dead Corellian pilots and featuring DisturbinglyAffectionate!EmperorPalpatine. Just the way I like him.


Hallo there. It's me finally, with the indirect sequel to "The Boy." This story takes place two years after RotS, so about five or five and a half years after "The Boy." I will be going back and writing another, longer, story taking place right after AotC, but I felt like writing this one first, so it gets written first to keep my attention on these fanfics.

Thanks for the reviews for The Boy, everyone. I love reviews, and this story was really something I wanted to hear some feedback about, more so than my drabble which got so much attention!

agentjedi: Yeah, I always wondered what Sidious was up to, too. Obviously he'd built a relationship up with Anakin since in AotC, Anakin had already known him for some time and considered him to be a very good friend. All official sources say that Anakin considered him to be one of his two father-figures. I think Lucas must have father issues, because all of his characters do. I love it, though.

Ansketil: Glad you liked it. Yeah, I like to take the hard road, and Palpatine wanting Anakin makes it delightful torture.

Lacking in account: Thanks for the review! Love your name.

LL: Palpatine and Vader have been my favourite characters for years, but I have always hated how everyone was so gun-ho (is that how you spell that. I feel so sinfully silly!) on redeeming Vader, even before the prequels were made, but no one ever cared to even think of Palpatine. He's a fascinating character, but his humanity is so often neglected. Thankfully, several very good fanzine authors did address the subject, so I was tided over a bit, but still. . .

Summary: Two years after the birth of the Empire and his fight on Mustaphar, Darth Vader has an epiphany. Guest starring some dead Corellian pilots and featuring DisturbinglyAffectionate!EmperorPalpatine. Just the way I like him.

Notes: I took the appellation "Black One (and Two, by association) for Vader's wingmen from another fanfic, "Runaway" by Valerie Vancolie and Rebecca Thomson. I don't know if this is official, so I'm giving credit where credit is suspected.

  
Master

By Ziggy Sternenstaub

„ARC-170 approaching from the rear, Lord Vader."

"Acknowledged," Vader responded calmly to his left wingman, voice echoing eerily in his own ears. The enemy craft bore down defiantly on the Dark Lord and Vader reached out with the Force, waiting as he sensed the other pilot narrowing on him. A moment before the enemy fired, Vader dove, leaving empty air where he had just been. The enemy was briefly confused, seeking the Dark Lord's position and overcome with frustration that he'd missed his chance to kill Vader, who took advantage of the split second of opportunity, sweeping up under the man and firing several times in succession. The ARC disappeared in a burst of glittering shrapnel and Vader felt the life force of the dead pilot, his co-pilot, and navigator flicker a moment, as yet unaware that they no longer belonged among the living. The Dark Lord drew strength from them, fuelling his own drive with their deaths. Alight on the rush of his victory, he shot down four more Corellian fighters in succession, his fingers moving so smoothly that he could almost believed they were small, independent droids acting of their own initiative.

Another ARC came in from the side and Vader was forced to flee while his right wingman handled the threat.

"Good job, Black One."

"Thank you, Lord Vader."

The Corellian pilots finally began their retreat, racing to the hovering mothership currently fending off heavy fire from _Executor. _Several more ARC-170s met the inevitable fate of their fellows, caught by the crowding laser beams in the tight space between the two ships. The Corellian mothership waited as long as it possibly could but was unable to resist fleeing. Its damaged rear was burning and _Executor _made to pursue, catching it in the warship's tractor beam. Vader saw immediately what his ship's admiral was attempting. The enemy ship's power cells were undoubtedly greatly weakened from the battle, straining to maintain shields and simple elevation, and as large as it was the ship was also dwarfed by _Executor_, the flagship of the newly founded Imperial Galactic Navy. The enemy ship was trapped, moving inevitably forwards—and into the path of _Executor_'s laser cannons.

The Corellian ship was shot again and the fire spread madly, pouring out of large holes appearing in its sides. Its shields were devastated and small fighter crafts were pulled out of the hangar bay, back into the black void. _Executor _again pummelled the enemy with merciless lasers. It was too much for the remains of the large craft and the ships's walls disintegrated, imploding into small, free-floating chunks. _Executor_ waited until its own pilots destroyed the few straggling enemy fighters before opening up its hangar bay. Vader flew in, landing his craft and unstrapping himself quickly. The cockpit opened with a cool hiss of air and Vader's enormous black form ominously emerged. He nodded a curt acknowledgement to his wingmen as they stepped out of their own fighters but did not waste a word on them.

The Dark Lord's cloak whispered, hushed, along floors polished as smooth as glass by sanitary workers too terrified to be lazy. When he reached the lift, it opened as though it too feared his wrath and dared not keep him waiting. The ride seemed even quicker than usual before the doors opened on the bridge, where victorious, excited chatter was being exchanged among the triumphant officers. The Dark Lord's first footfall, heavy and distinctive, crafted silence. It seemed to fall like a monstrous blanket, and one by one the men ran out of words.

Admiral Darme approached Vader with a certain amount of repressed revulsion and grudging respect. It was a typical attitude from any man of significant rank on _Executor_, who feared the uncertain honour of reporting directly to the unpredictable ex-Jedi.

"Lord Vader," Darme acknowledged his superior with a calm courage belied by his wildly bobbing Adam's apple.

"Admiral Darme. I commend you on your efforts. Your unconventional use of the tractor beam brought us our victory today."

When shocked, Darme made a very convincing impression of a Gungan fresh out of water. The man's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Er, thank you, Lord Vader. I'm pleased that—that you're pleased."

Vader rolled his eyes under his mask, grateful for once of its hated presence. No need to look a fool with his childish gesture when there was a two centimetre thick layer of black metal between himself and the rest of the galaxy. "I'm pleased that we've won, Admiral," he corrected. "_That_ is all that matters."

"Yes, my Lord," the Admiral replied blankly.

The Dark Lord would have walked right over his Admiral in his haste to reach his customary place at the viewport, had not some sense of self preservation finally reached Darme. The Coruscanti all but leapt to the side, managing to avoid touching the Dark Lord save for a brief brush of the Sith's cloak. Darme's eyes never left Vader' back, tracking him through the enormous bridge and waiting until the Dark Lord seemed firmly ensconced at the window. Only then did the Admiral dare to draw another breath.

Vader smiled as he monitored his underling's nervous terror. Even after two years as the new Empire's enigmatic enforcer, it had not ceased to amaze him the reaction that he drew from people by simply being there, by doing nothing more than breathing!

The respirator drew another pull on the ship's oxygen, reminding Vader that in his case breathing was far from a simple issue. Perhaps the most amazing thing on _Executor _was the very reality that Vader did draw breath and would continue to do so. His warrior's form, weighed down by intimidating armour, concealed horrors that would have killed lesser men who did not have Vader's strength, determination, power or hatred.

Most of all his hatred. It was hatred that had kept him alive on Mustaphar. It as his hatred that had given him the strength to drag himself away the lava river with his only remaining limb—a piece of metal striped bare from the fire.

After his ordeal, horribly burned and all of his limbs replaced with cybernetic attachments, his shocked body had necessarily been subjected to a long period of physical therapy. His doctors had also insisted that he allow a psychiatric professional to speak with him about his experience on the volcano world. Vader had protested stringently, finding the sentiment both ridiculous and intrusive. The doctors had insisted, threatening to arbitrarily declare him mentally unstable should he refuse. With Palpatine still only just consolidating his grip on their new Empire, Vader could not simply have made some of the most well-respected medical professionals on Coruscant simply "disappear" for disagreeing with him without attracting a great deal of undue interest. The Dark Lord was forced to submit.

Vader had reluctantly met the grave looking little man, a psychiatrist with several hundred reports published in all of the most respected medical journals and a resume as long as Vader's cloak. The Dark Lord had made it perfectly clear in his customarily blunt fashion that he was not pleased that the man's services had been forced on him and furthermore was only interested in ending their association as quickly as possible. Doctor Haspin hadn't blinked an eye but merely informed Vader that the Sith Lord had suffered traumatic bodily injury and they would be finished with each other when Haspin was satisfied that Vader's mind had not been affected as well. Haspin had then gone over his patient's medical file briskly until his sharp eye had alighted on Vader's date of birth.

The Dark Lord standing at Executor's viewport flinched as he remembered the sadness, the _pity_, in Haspin's eyes.

"_You're only twenty three years old. . ."_

_Vader deliberated a moment before acknowledging the obvious. "Yes."_

"_You're only twenty three, Lord Vader."_

"_I know my date of birth, Doctor."_

_The little man sighed sadly. "Of course you do, my Lord."_

The man's pity had not put him on Vader good side, if the Dark Lord could be said to have one. He'd made the inevitable twice-weekly sessions as unpleasant and difficult as he possibly could without resorting to outright physical torture. Vader wondered what awesome sum Palpatine had been paying the man that he'd stayed at all. Despite Haspin's best efforts, though, Vader had refused to speak about anything more than the most trivial of details regarding his time on Mustaphar, namely that he'd been there on a mission from the Emperor and had defeated the separatists before encountering a rouge Jedi. Haspin's constant insistence on digging at Vader's memories had not relented, however, and matters had come to a head when the Dark Lord had arrived at his session in a particularly foul and intolerant mood. Haspin had been prying about his injuries and Vader had finally decided to oblige him with complete, intimate knowledge of the experience.

He'd invaded the man's mind without permission or warning and had forced the doctor to live the memory through Vader's eyes, sharing his pain, experiencing the loss of his limbs and finally feeling the heat as his body burst into flames. Vader had watched with vicious satisfaction as the man's mind shrank back in horror and agony. After the vision, Haspin had been possessed by a false calm, wishing Vader a good day and closing the door with a soft click.

The good doctor's protocol droid had found him the next day, hanging from the ceiling of his private apartments, a mad, pained expression in his brown eyes and already twelve standard hours dead. They'd informed Vader the next day, while explaining why all of his future appointments had been cancelled without warning, that there had been no suicide note. Vader was not surprised, and had taken the liberty of celebrating the occasion by having his own date of birth erased from all official records.

_Executor_ jumped into hyperspace.

* * *

The Imperial Palace was beautiful, a shimmering structure of black marble in the midst of so much cheap steel. It was also only three quarters finished and Vader's shuttle flew straight past it and headed for the Senate. For the time being the Emperor was still forced to hold audience amidst the trappings of a failed democracy. Vader and his small entourage of storm troopers entered without question from the guards on duty there. The Senate had obviously just let out of session. Robe clad beings scuttled about, muttering remarks that ranged from admiring to outraged. Vader ignored them, his customary disgust for politicians bringing a foul taste to his mouth. He followed his master's presence to the Emperor's office, the same spacious chambers Palpatine had used during all of his years as Chancellor of the Republic. 

The foul taste intensified. He hated coming here, with an altogether different brand of hatred than the fiery betrayal he directed at the Jedi. The office was as familiar to him as his own face had once been. He'd visited Palpatine here a hundred times while he'd been growing up. He'd listened to the Chancellor's stories, his advice and his praise. He'd heard the Chancellor say his name in that pleasant, fatherly tone he'd come to bask in, grew to almost love.

_Anakin. . ._

Coming to the red-walled office reminded Vader that the break he'd so desperately tried to make from his first twenty three years of life was not complete, could perhaps never be complete. For was he not here in the same place that the Jedi Skywalker had once stood?

"I see you're still attempting to self induce schizophrenia, Lord Vader. I have told you before, it does not matter what you call yourself or that you were once a Jedi. You are Darth Vader _now_. That is all that matters."

Vader was reminded eerily of his own words to Admiral Darme the day before after the battle in the Corellian system and wondered how much he really needed to worry about Anakin Skywalker after all. There appeared to be more of Palpatine in him now than ever: his coolly cut words and intrusive command. Vader had surrendered himself to the Sith Master; perhaps it did not matter who he had once been. Certainly not enough to do battle with a memory.

"Better, Lord Vader," the Emperor said, tone clipped as he monitored his apprentice's conclusions. "Now tell me, how was your mission on Corellia?"

Vader paused. Did the Emperor not know or was this a test? "It do not proceed as expected, Your Majesty."

The Emperor's dark robed form turned away from his window watching, another habit that Vader had acquired from Palpatine at some point in this very room.

"Did not proceed as…expected, Lord Vader?"

That voice was not fatherly, kind or understanding. It was as cold as black ice, demanding perfection from disaster. Something inside of Vader flinched away from it, some part of him that could still be hurt by this man's disappointment.

"The Corellians rejected the military protection of the Empire. They were ready for us when we arrived just outside of the system. Two ships attacked my Star Destroyer. The first one was taken out quite easily, but the second one resisted. We were able to defeat the threat but I fear this is only a temporary victory. Even if this group was not sanctioned by the planetary government, other rebellious factions will be emboldened by this move."

"This is unexpected but typically in character for the Corellians. Rouges, to the last," Palpatine noted with exasperation. "They were always making trouble in the Senate as well, back in the old days."

"Let me guess. Petitioning to make crime legal?" Vader offered wryly.

A long pause issued from the Emperor. Inwardly, Vader flinched. Palpatine seemed to have much less tolerance for pithy comments these days, even from his apprentice. He wondered how his remark was being interpreted, what processes were taking place in the intricate system of synapses that his master called a brain.

"You seem to have recovered your sense of humour from that pit of emotional excess you misplaced it in, Lord Vader. Your remark was trite, but not far removed from the truth. The Corellians are irascible. They must be taught their place. We will issue a reward for the culprits—it will flush them out more surely than any threat of violence could. Then we will replace the planetary government with our own people."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Vader agreed. It was the ideal solution, as much as Vader despised the thought that money would necessarily be honoured more than justice. Loyal Imperial men had died yesterday, attacked without warning by subversives. It was an act of war and Vader wished that he could respond to it as such. He remembered when it had all seemed so very simple. He had the power to force the galaxy to behave itself, why was he not allowed to use it? The answer was a hard learned one, and told him that if he used that power now he would not retain it long enough to correct the greater faults at work in their new Empire. Vader did not envy Palpatine his political career, the helpless destiny of sitting back for _decades, _merely watching, unable to act.

The Emperor picked up on the errant thought and laughed. "My concerns were different than your own and I had more patience than you have ever possessed, my Lord."

Unseen, Vader flushed in embarrassment.

"I have another assignment for you, my apprentice. There have been Jedi sightings on Schabig. Go there, and eliminate them."

"Jedi on Schabig? I would think that a planet well known for drug trafficking would be too much for their precious sensibilities," Vader commented bitterly.

"Desperate times prompt even the most moral to desperate actions, Lord Vader. I fear we will be hunting stragglers for years. I am forced to comment on a certain degree of idiocy, however. Burying themselves in criminal scum was a clever move and unexpected, but the truth will out: They undoubtedly could not resist interfering in some poor suffering fool's affairs and used the Force openly."

"A pity that poor suffering fools are usually the first ones to run to the authorities," Vader noted.

"You know the sort of people that live in Schabig. You grew up with that sort, but the Jedi are remarkably naïve in some ways. One is almost forced to. . .pity their lack of awareness, even now."

Vader did not--could not--pity the Jedi. He lived each moment anticipating his next action, never looking back, knowing that if he did he may begin to think too much about his actions, may begin to doubt.

He remembered so clearly what had happened in this very office. . .

_"What have I done?" Anakin whispered in horror, eyes fixed on the window frame, to the empty space where Mace Windu had been. He wondered where the body was now, where it had landed. He wondered if he'd hear about it in the news the next day. He doubted it._

_"Begun to fulfil your destiny, Anakin," the Sith Master hissed his answer, approaching at an agonising pace, tarnished hands outstretched, his deformed face caught in a gleeful baring of teeth that could hardly be called a smile._

_Anakin was shocked, terrified of the future, disgusted with himself and with the man standing in front of him. It was too late for regrets, though he had plenty. He had already cast his lot. Why not trust this old man one more time? Trust that he had the knowledge that Anakin so desperately needed, and maybe even trust that he could banish even just a little bit of the madness waiting at the edge of the Jedi's vision._

_The Chancellor was capable and dependable. He remembered once wishing that he had a father like Palpatine, the one who always knew the right answers and did not belittle him as Obi-Wan was wont to do. _

_He'd been given the choice._

_Anakin dropped to his knees. . ._

Palpatine was sitting at his desk, watching his student with sharp yellow eyes. There was something considering and almost thoughtful that made Vader catch himself about to tremble. Just as he played the mental game with himself of pretending that he was an entirely different creature from Anakin Skywalker, so too could he almost convince himself that Darth Sidious was merely a strange, deformed thing using Palpatine's name. He imagined that he'd never even known him before that horrifying moment in the Chancellor's apartment.

"_You're the Sith Master!"_

"_Are you going to kill me?"_

_"I'd dearly love to."_

"You couldn't have done it if you had tried, my apprentice," the elder Sith laughed at him presently, reading his mind with ease and playing with a datapad.

Vader did not answer but felt awful, indignant pride rise up in his chest, closing his throat with the force of his outrage.

"Ah, I've touched your ego. Yes, you are powerful. I will not and cannot deny it. But I am older, my powers fully developed and you still have much to learn of the Dark Side, my foolish apprentice. There is always another trick at the last moment, and I am not insignificantly powerful myself."

Vader knew it. The Emperor had effortlessly killed Jedi Masters, faced off with Yoda and defeated Mace Windu. Anakin had played his role in that last but Vader almost believed that Palpatine could easily have defeated Windu alone is he hadn't _wanted _Anakin to participate, to make his choice at last and be damned for it.

"And so you acknowledge my power, Lord Vader. _That_ is the way of the Sith. Be humbled and learn and you will not be killed as were my other students, who inevitably succumbed to their pride and arrogance. Learn and someday you will be the Master."

Palpatine smiled at him almost mockingly as he spoke the last word. Darth Vader read into the space beyond those gruesome teeth and quite suddenly knew, as if for the first time in his life, the meaning of the word epiphany.

He was a slave.

He had been born a slave, to a mother that was a slave. After winning his freedom at the Boonta Eve Classic, he'd begged to be placed under the jurisdiction of the Jedi, who had treated him as a power to be harnessed and watched, always watched. There had no longer been a bomb in his body during his time as a Padawan learner, but there were invisible chains of servitude which had bound his mind and drove him to resent the people he had so desperately needed to teach him the Force and with it the means to shaping his own destiny. He'd never known what it meant to have a single autonomous moment until he'd married Padme against all sense, until he'd broken every rule for love and to keep just a small portion of what it meant to be a person.

As Darth Vader, he was a warrior on the battle field, a Lord of the Sith and ruler of all he surveyed—so long as he did not return home. Palpatine had offered him the means to save his wife, but by accepting he'd destroyed her, destroyed his own body and willingly chained himself to a master he could never betray, never disobey, never leave. The Force bound him body and soul to his master as effectively as an explosive transmitter on Tatooine ever had.

He was a slave. The simple truth would have taken his breath away, had it not been mechanically regulated. He remembered a small boy who'd declared that someday he'd go back to Tatooine and free all of the slaves. Those same slaves either now remained someone else's disposable property, or they were dead.

There had not been, Vader realised with icy clarity, a single day of his life when he had not called another "master."

The cold hand of truth clasped at what was left of Vader's heart and _squeezed. _With a soft cry, he fell to his knees. The room seemed to swim in his view and his armour pressed down heavily on his shoulders. He wanted to do something, call something, but he didn't know what. The whisper of rustling robes approached the Sith Apprentice as if from a very great distance.

"You are an intelligent man, Lord Vader, but self awareness has never been your strong suit, has it?" The Emperor lamented quietly.

Vader forced his head upwards until the other Sith's hand came into his view. The hand approached in slow motion until it finally rested in a twisted blessing on Vader's helmeted head. Despite the thick metal, he felt the touch burn him and his entire body tensed in warning. The fingers on his helmet _stroked_, softly, almost lovingly.

"You had such beautiful curly blond hair," Palpatine said suddenly.

The feeling on his helmet changed and it suddenly seemed as if the metal weren't there at all, but that the fingers were stroking through hair, hair that was really there. Thick and full, it parted slowly under those possessive digits. Vader shook, unable to stop himself, confused and desperate.

"My Lord. . ." the Emperor purred.

His.

Palpatine laughed softly. "Yes. Mine."

The other man moved away and Vader felt a rush of relief that contradicted the ache of loss where those fingers had been.

"Stand on your feet, Lord Vader."

Palpatine's tone had changed again, no longer indulgent, and Vader did as bade.

"You will go to Shabig and kill the Jedi there. You will bring me their lightsabres as proof of their deaths. You leave tomorrow."

Vader nodded but Palpatine continued to watch him, expectantly, as if waiting for something.

Vader gave it to him. "Yes, my master."

It did not cost him very much to say it.

After all, it was all he knew.

FINIS


End file.
